


Line in the Sand

by frantic65



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-03
Updated: 2010-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frantic65/pseuds/frantic65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Canon through 508, then I'm just doodling.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Line in the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Canon through 508, then I'm just doodling.

_**Line in the Sand**_  
**Title:** Line in the Sand  
**Pairing:** Brian/Justin  
**Word Count** About 1,600 words.

He took another pull on his cigarette and let the smoke invade every last cell in his lungs, filling empty spaces with something tangible and potentially deadly. As if that wasn't a sad commentary on the fucking mess his life had become in recent years.

His ironic laughter turned into a hacking cough as his oxygen-starved lungs spasmed and forced him to spew out the toxic fumes. He idly wondered why he had never had a tobacco company for a client; fuck knows he could have been their perfect poster boy.

His cell phone chirped annoyingly; no pathetic ring tones allowed…well, not any more. He glanced at the display and hit the send to voicemail button, tossing the phone aside as he moved closer to his panoramic view of the grimy Pittsburgh streets. He remembered other nights looking down at the same scene; smooth, pale arms wrapping warmly around his waist, a lean body pressing tightly to his back, naked in the summertime, draped in a duvet during the colder months. If he closed his eyes he could still feel him there, as though the memory of his touch was permanently imprinted onto his very flesh.

Yes, he fucking missed him and wondered at the stunning irony that allowed him to admit that little fact to himself honestly when his usual inability to face such truths was one of the main reasons he was presently alone. Maybe, he thought bitterly, it was another one of God's special plans. Where was St. Joan when you needed her?

The unusual clarity with which he was finally able to see such a truth really was almost miraculous. His mother, however, would no doubt be disappointed to discover his epiphany had been brought on not by divine intervention, but by a recent fuckfest or two. The outcome of the first had been a nasty case of syphilis, which was something of a biblical-type punishment, he mused, and which had indirectly led to Justin's sudden overwhelming desire for white picket fences, apple trees, and an STD-free partner.

The result of the second, a fucking contest to retain his title as Pittsburgh's premier top fuck, ended up being an empty victory, especially given that the only person around to congratulate him wound up being Theodore. Yet, it did cause him to finally see things from another perspective, and although it was a feeling akin to being fucked without lube, Brian had spent a few sleepless nights doing some serious thinking, without the aid of his usual pain management techniques.

He'd like to be able to say he'd figured it all out, and he was ready to give Justin exactly what he wanted; commitment, monogamy…maybe even marriage. But that would be bullshit and empty promises that would be impossible to keep, and that would be even worse than his present situation of life without Justin. Because there could be no second chances when it got to that level; he and Justin were not together right now, but their parting, although sudden and unexpected, did not feel like forever to Brian anymore.

Justin had drawn a line in the sand, thrown down a gauntlet; whatever fucked-up cliché he used, it still boiled down to a challenge, and one that if accepted, he'd have to make damn sure he followed through on any promises uttered, since after all this time, Justin's Kinney Bullshit Detector was a fucking finely-tuned instrument.

So, after coming to the painful realization that his club boy days were indeed numbered and that the Brandons of the world would eventually storm the fortress and claim the flag of Pittsburgh's top fag no matter how many fuck-offs he had won in the past, Brian had decided to look at things logically, and take this domestic shit one step at a time.

The most important step in advertising is getting the client to take your call, and then having them agree to a meeting, preferably at a neutral location like a restaurant. He retrieved his cell phone from the sofa and hit Justin's speed dial, humming to himself as he listened to the static-laced ringing in his ear, suddenly frowning as he realized he was fucking humming and cursing softly as it appeared Sunshine wasn't going to answer his phone.

"Fucking answer." He started pacing restlessly, ending up in front of a half-empty bottle of Beam.

"Hello…who the fuck is this?" Brian's frown deepened at the grouchy voice that greeted him. He heard a sudden indrawn breath as Justin must have checked the display. "Brian?"

"Greetings and salutations, Sunshine!" He immediately stopped his stalking and slowly dropped down onto the sofa, amazed at how much he had missed hearing Justin's voice.

"Are you drunk?" Justin asked suspiciously, causing Brian to snort in amusement.

"No…are you?"

"Are you high?"

"Sadly, that's a negative too."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I didn't realize I could only call you when something was wrong."

"Brian…it's three am on a Tuesday morning…not the usual time for casual conversation…even for you."

Shit! He hadn't realized it was quite that late, and Justin had obviously answered his phone without checking to see who it was, but at least they were talking.

"Uh…Justin…"

"Brian, you are fucking freaking me out, what's wrong? Are you sick? Did you take some of Anita's Enhanced E…you know what happened last time you did th—"

Jesus, the twat was gearing up for a full-fledged queen out. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and cut Justin off. "There is nothing fucking wrong. I am not on drugs…or drunk…or lost and wandering the streets of a strange city. I…I just fucking miss you and I wanted to call you and hear your voice." Castrate him now and he would officially be a lesbian…fucking love.

There was dead silence on the other end of the line except for a slight wheezing that Brian hoped wasn't the start of a fucking asthma attack. Then he heard a slight squeak, followed by a throat clearing.

"Did you just say you missed me and wanted to hear my voice?"

"Uh…possibly."

"You asshole!"

"I forgot how eloquent you are at three am, Sunshine."

"You asshole!"

"Repetitive too."

"You call me up in the fucking middle of the night and tell me you miss me, and you see nothing wrong with that?"

Shit…how did he always manage to make good intentions sound suspect?

"Well, I figured if I told you I loved you, you'd come over here and kick my ass." So much for the one step at a time plan.

"Brian, if this is just a trick to get me to come over there because you want to fuck me, I will never speak to you again. Ever!"

He sounded really upset and Brian felt like a shit, but the horse was already out of the fucking barn or whatever the stupid saying was, and there was no way to unsay any of it now anyway.

"Justi-"

"Wait…don't say another fucking word…I'm on my way over."

"Justin, its three am, this can wai—"

"I know its three am, you called me remember? I'll be there in ten minutes. You'd better have your dick in your pants and be stone cold sober you piece of shit!"

Justin fucking hung up on him and Brian stared at his phone with a mix of horror and amusement. The last time Justin had spoken to him like that he was getting ready to force feed him chicken soup. Brian reached down and adjusted his suddenly rock hard cock, a common side effect when faced with Justin in a snit, and Brian was the first to admit that a pissed-off Justin was a fucking hot Justin.

When he heard the elevator groan to life a few minutes later, he'd managed to control his errant cock enough that Justin would be too annoyed to even notice his now half-hearted erection.

Justin didn't bother knocking; he just used his key and threw the door open, pausing only long enough to slam it shut behind him.

"Sunshine!" Brian said cheerfully, hoping to deflect the brunt of the storm.

Justin stalked up to him and stood on his toes to bring them face-to-face. "What game are you playing, Brian?"

"I swear it's not a game, Justin."

"You just suddenly felt the need to call me in middle of the night, weeks after we split up, to tell me that you love me and you miss me?"

"Yes, but I promise I don't want to have your baby."

"Did you fall down and hit your head?" he looked at Brian skeptically.

"No, I did not hit my fucking head, or ingest fairy juice, or any of the other possibilities you might decide to bring up. I just fucking missed you. I missed us, and you'll be happy to know that by admitting that, my dick is now completely limp!"

They glared at each other for a long minute before Justin looked away and brought his hand up to scratch behind his ear nervously.

"Holy shit!" he breathed. "You really mean it, don't you? There's no pod in the bedroom, or camera crew filming this for a reality show," Brian raised his eyebrow and smirked. "You told me that you loved me and you really mean it."

"I've loved you for a long time, Justin, it's just the admitting it part that's the breaking news story here."

"Son-of-a-bitch," Justin reached up and smoothed his hand through Brian's hair before bringing his palm even with his cheek. "It's a fucking miracle."

Brian rolled his lips and stared down into Justin's eyes. "So…where do we go from here, Sunshine?"

Justin pressed his lips gently against Brian's. "Fuck if I know…how about we take it one step at a time, okay?"

"You really are a clever devil, aren't you?"

"Fucking genius, Mr. Kinney."

But Brian had the last word. After all, he'd always insisted talking was overrated, and in this case, he was damned fucking right.


End file.
